


Devil Inside

by romanticalgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demons, Gallavich Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7551463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes being an incubus is harder than it looks.</p>
<p>No pun intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil Inside

Kevin sits next to Mickey at Dante’s and signals for a beer. One of the lesser demons is working the bar, so he knows it’ll be a while. For some reason they could managed mixed drinks, but the simple shit seemed beyond them.

“You look like shit.” Mickey flips him off without looking up from his drink. It’s bright orange with swirls of blue, and the top is a frothy red. Kevin frowns at it as if something is likely to crawl out. “What the fuck is that?”

“I don’t fucking know. I ordered a shot of whiskey.”

“Have you tried it?”

Mickey finally looks at him. “I may be immortal, but I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Hey.” Kevin holds his hands up in surrender. “People do some weird fucking shit down here.”

Mickey shrugs in agreement, or at least the lack of argument. “Why aren’t you working tonight?”

“V’s got a bitch of a headache. We’re doing reruns.” Kevin takes a deep drink of the beer the demon sits in front of him. “Seriously though, man. You look like shit. Not getting any?”

“You weren’t funny before you were dead. You lost your soul. You sure as fuck didn’t _get_ a sense of humor.”

“I think I’m funny.”

“You’re really fucking wrong.”

Kevin smirks and takes another drink. “You’re just jealous that I get to bang a hot chick.”

Mickey looks at Kevin, eyebrow cocked and disbelieving smirk on his face. “You serious right now? My entire fucking reason for existence is to bang hot chicks.”

“Yeah, but _have_ you been?”

“Fuck you. Look at my numbers.”

Kevin looks up at the TV on the wall where there’s a constant scroll of information. Mickey’s name comes up and Kevin whistles low. “Holy shit.” He glances up at the ceiling and holds his hands up. “Sorry.”

“Exactly.” Mickey finally takes a drink from the glass in front of him. He spits it out before the taste can get past his tongue and throws the glass in the direction of the demon behind the bar. “Asshole.”

The demon shrugs and goes back to cleaning glasses with a dirty rag. Kevin slumps back on the bar stool. “Okay, so you’ve been hitting every single chick on the surface from the looks of it. You should be popping a woody constantly and look like a million bucks. What the fuck’s going on?”

“Fuck if I know.” Mickey runs his hands through his hair. “But I’m sure not going to the boss to ask him.”

“Immortal, but don’t have a death wish.” Kevin nods. “Well, you don’t start looking better, you sure as fuck aren’t going to keep those numbers up. I’d suggest a good night’s sleep, but that’s only going to make it worse.”

“You’re just a ray of fucking sunshine, aren’t you?”

Kevin shrugs. “We’re in hell. What else do you expect?”

**

Mickey appears on the surface in a dark alley just after the light bulb above the door blows. Not the best trick in the demon arsenal, but it serves its purpose. His purpose at least. He walks around the corner of the alley and frowns. This is supposed to be a new club, but as far as he can tell, they only people in line are guys. Most clubs make sure to have a line of chicks out the door to make sure there’s cash flow. Maybe the girls are inside and this is the last of the line to be let in. He shrugs to himself and gets in line, ignoring everyone else as he waits his turn then pays his cover and goes inside.

The club is bathed in purple and red lights pulsing along with the music. There are flashes of gold and silver and the bar is white and lit up all over so it’s a blinding oasis. It’s a fucking negative image of the club, and all he can see is an echo of it when he closes his eyes. He deliberately looks away and heads deeper into the club, trying to make out the best place to start.

“Oh, fuck.”

Mickey can finally see as the strobes start flashing and he realizes that he’s a fucking idiot. 

He’s in a fucking gay bar.

He looks around for the exit and his eyes happen to slide over a couple of guys dancing. One of them is tall and has a bright slash of red hair, darkened around his hairline where it’s damp with sweat. He’s wearing a skin-tight black t-shirt and jeans that look too tight to be anything but painted on. Mickey doesn’t even notice the guy he’s dancing with. He just stares, unable to look away when the redhead laughs, head thrown back and white teeth shining.

“Fuck.” It comes out in a hushed breath that sounds dangerously like a prayer. Mickey can’t think. Can’t breathe. Fortunately his job comes naturally and breathing is optional. The problem is that his job is to fuck girls. To impregnate them with demon spawn and bring about the reign of hell on earth. Well, that’s not a problem. The problem is that right now the only thing he wants is that guy, whoever he is, to bang the fuck out of him. “Oh, fuck.”

Mickey turns on his heel and goes to the bar, ordering a triple of anything. He doesn’t look to see what they pour, and he doesn’t look at what’s in the glass. He picks it up, downs it in one swallow and slams the glass back on the counter. “Another.”

The bartender pours again. “Gonna need your keys.”

“I took a cab.” Mickey swallows down the second glass in the same short order. He sets it down and wipes his palm across his mouth. “Where’s the nearest pussy bar?”

The bartender laughs and leans closer. “Aw, honey. Are you trying to cling desperately to your masculinity? That’s so cute. But you’re in the middle of Boys’ Town. You want pussy, you’re in the wrong neighborhood.” He looks Mickey over, and Mickey recognizes his expression. Mickey was born with that expression. “Something tells me pussy ain’t what you’re really looking for.”

Mickey turns on his heel and walks away, tossing a quick spell over his shoulder. The bartender grabs Mickey’s glass and frowns at it, shrugs and goes back to serving someone else. Cover he pays for. Drinks he gets for free.

He heads toward the door, not meaning to turn his head, but finding himself looking over to where he saw the redhead dancing. He’s not there, and Mickey breathes a sigh of relief before turning to look where he’s going. It’s too late because incubi may be very lucky at getting laid, but that’s about all their lucky at. He runs into a wall of muscle, looking up into a pair of bright eyes and a wicked smirk. And red hair.

“Hi.” The redhead doesn’t move, and Mickey can’t seem to. It feels like the entire bar is closing in around them so there’s nowhere else to go. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“The club opened tonight, dipshit.”

“Around town.” He keeps smiling and Mickey wants to punch him in the face. His natural instinct is to be aggressive toward guys, to get them the fuck out of his face and the fuck away from Mickey’s targets. This guy seems completely oblivious to the fact Mickey looks like he wants to rip his throat out. “I’m Ian.”

“You must be proud.” Mickey tries to move around him, but Ian grabs his arm and, before Mickey can react, has his hands on Mickey’s hips, his body against Mickey’s, his thigh between both of Mickey’s. “The fuck are you doing?” Mickey should be shoving the guy away. He should sound _furious_. Instead his voice falters a little bit and he lets the guy pull him in closer. 

“Dancing.” He sways, his hands keeping Mickey in rhythm with him. “And then I’m thinking I’m going to take you into the back alley and fuck you into the bricks.” Mickey bites his lip hard to keep from making a sound, but he knows the guy – Ian – can feel his cock get harder. Ian smiles and rolls his hips, cock grinding against Mickey’s thigh. “Mm. Seems like you like the sound of that.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Ian slides one hand from Mickey’s hip down his thigh and then over to cup Mickey’s dick, squeezing lightly. Mickey’s breath catches before he can stop himself and Ian’s grin grows wider, sinful and wicked. Mickey’s almost impressed. “Oh, I think I do.”

**

Mickey bites his fist to keep from moaning. His jeans are around his ankles and his legs are spread as wide as they can go. Ian’s fingers slip free and then his cock is pushing against the tight muscle, so slow and steady and Mickey wants to scream at him to hurry, to slow down. It’s nothing like he imagined, nothing like what the succubi assure him getting fucked is like. It’s painful and perfect and he chokes as Ian grabs his cock and squeezes, pushing in all the way as he does. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” Ian pants. “So tight. Perfect virgin ass.” He releases Mickey’s cock and Mickey groans in frustration. Ian’s hands move instead to Mickey’s ass, spreading it wider, fucking in deep with every thrust. “Take it so good. Like a fucking natural.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey pleads, even though it’s a lie. He doesn’t want Ian to stop. Stop moving, stop talking, stop touching, stop fucking. His fingers dig into the brick until it crumbles, red dust raining down to the asphalt. He tries to release his grip, but then Ian starts stroking him and fucking him at the same time, a push-pull that shorts out Mickey’s brain. 

He drops his head to the wall and gives up trying to stifle his noises. He doesn’t know when they turn into words, begging Ian for more. He wants it harder, deeper. He wants everything Ian can give him. His cock is hard, hot and thick in Ian’s grip and Mickey doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on, this desperate. Eventually the words stop and it’s just panting and moaning and whimpering and then he feels Ian still and then the hot rush against his skin.

Mickey’s body jerks in response, his ass clenching around Ian as he comes as well. It paints a thick white splatter against the red brick and he shudders hard. Ian’s still talking, but Mickey can’t hear him over the white noise in his head. Ian pulls out and Mickey jerks again, sagging more against the wall. He feels wrung out and exhausted and like every single glamour point he’s been losing has suddenly come back with a vengeance. 

“Fuck.”

Ian tosses the condom before he turns and leans against the wall next to Mickey as Mickey pulls up his pants. “Told you I knew what I was talking about.”

“Yeah.” Mickey nods. He’s pretty sure he’s high as fuck right now and his numbers must be going off the charts. It’s not often someone’s happy in hell, but he’s pretty sure tonight’s going to be one of the exceptions. “You did.”

Ian smiles cockily, and if anyone’s deserving of the adverb, Mickey can vouch it’s Ian. “Come on.”

Mickey turns his head. “C’mon where?”

“My place. You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

**

Mickey looks up as Kevin sits next to him at the bar. “Hey, man.”

“What the fuck? It’s like you’re a whole new person. How many girls a night are you hitting?” Mickey shrugs, smiles and takes a long drink of his beer. “Like a hundred? Are you banging entire bars? What the hell’d you do to turn it around?”

Mickey shrugs again and glances up at the TV. The news is on and there are reports of catastrophes, ‘natural’ disasters, overcrowding and population booms, and the daily count of every new resident of hell. The screen starts flashing red and then black and then, somewhere in the back of Mickey’s head, he hears a voice that every single person and demon and hell hates to hear. 

“My office, Mickey. Now.”

Kevin’s eyes are wide, so clearly it was a broadcast message that went out to every demon in the realm. “Fuck, man. If he obliterates you, can I have your porn collection?”

Mickey flips him off, drains his beer and heads out of the bar. It’s a dark and twisted path to the main residence, which is really nothing more than a dump, but the rattiest arm chair is raised on a hill of tortured souls and the leader of hell is on his bug infested throne. “Yeah, Frank?”

Frank leans forward, swaying slightly in his chair. “You.” 

Terry comes from around the base of the hill and Mickey’s whole body tenses. Terry rarely does what Frank says, but if it’s a beat-down, Terry’ll be more than happy to comply. Shit. “What about me?”

Frank gets up, walking on the people as he makes his way down to face Mickey. He smells like the sewer, unwashed and unkempt. The Incubi and Succubi always have it the worst with Frank. Their job is to look good, to lure. Frank’s is to repel. The two don’t work together very well most of the time. “You’re in negative numbers.”

“What?”

Frank’s eyes narrow at the shock in Mickey’s voice. It’s like he’s taking Mickey’s appearance in for the first time. He tilts his head, clearly looking for something in Mickey’s face. If Mickey’s numbers are in the negatives, he can understand, since there’s absolutely no way he should look this good. Unless...

Frank’s eyes widen and he leans in closer. Mickey wants to gag, but manages to curb the impulse. “What? You figured it out. What?” Frank draws back and he stares at Mickey for a long moment. “Oh my god.” There’s a distant rumble of thunder and a warning flash of lightning, but Frank ignores it. It was his job to upset her. “You’re getting laid constantly, but you’re not sucking any sexual energy. How?”

Terry sniffs and scowls, a low growl emanating from his throat. “He’s a fucking faggot.”

“You’re a...of course. Fuck, of _course_.” Frank starts laughing like a demented freak. He claps his hands together and then slaps Mickey hard on the arm. “You’re getting plowed. Figures. I have the one incubus who takes it up the ass.”

Terry takes an intimidating step forward, and Mickey straightens, standing his ground. He meets Frank’s gaze evenly. “So what are you going to do?”

“Well, I take it, whoever he is, he doesn’t want you to have tits, so turning you into a succubus won’t work. Go do your job – your real job – and I’ll think about it. Maybe it’s just time to let you help redecorate.” He reaches out and grabs the air and one of the souls from the pile beneath his throne rises up, hanging there suspended. Frank tilts his head one way and then quickly the other and there’s the loud sound of a spine snapping. The body falls to the ground and Frank’s nose wrinkles. “Get rid of that, Terry.”

**

Mickey does try. He tries four different times, and each time, he can’t manage to get it up. He gets every one of them off, but he knows his numbers are still going to be in the negatives. Energy has goals, and Mickey’s not even close to the bare minimum. He leaves the last girl on her bed and slumps against the elevator wall on the ride down. 

He knows he should hit another bar. He knows he has a quota. But he also knows that, now that he’s realized it and owned it, he has about as much desire to fuck a woman as he does to drown himself in the lake of boiling oil that is normally reserved for religious leaders and politicians. Instead he takes a cab to Ian’s place and knocks on the door. Ian opens it and smiles, barely saying hi before he’s got Mickey in the door and against the wall, Ian’s tongue fucking into his mouth.

Mickey buries his fingers in Ian’s hair, digging the nails into his scalp and then suddenly there’s a flash and the thick smell of sulfur and he’s standing in front of Frank. He and _Ian_ are standing in front of Frank. “What, you want a fucking free show?”

“Free fucking show from where this seems to be headed. So this is him, huh?” Frank jumps down, and Mickey can hear the bone in Frank’s ankle snap. He manages not to smirk, but it takes a lot of energy. Frank hobbles around Ian and sneers, poking him like he’s judging some sort of meat. “You know where you are, boy?”

Ian looks around then looks at Mickey. “Um.”

“You’re in hell. Not just figuratively. Literally. This is hell.” Frank moves and looks Ian in the face. “And you’re fucking a demon.”

“That why he’s so good?”

Frank’s mouth stays open like he’s catching flies. “What?”

“I mean, if you’re going to be a sex demon – and I’m guessing he’s a sex demon, right? - then you’d have to be damn good at sex, right? No pun intended.”

Frank’s eyes narrow. “Are you being a smart ass? Because it sure sounds like you’re being a smart ass.” He jabs Ian in the chest again. “He’s a demon, and he’s about to be banished to the lowest depths because you’ve ruined him. He can’t take any sexual energy from you.”

“Why not? We’re having sex two or three times a night.” He shrugs. “I have a _lot_ of sexual energy.”

Frank cuts a look to Mickey. “Two and three times?”

Mickey shrugs. “At least.”

“Huh.” Frank glances over at Terry, who looks like he’s about to explode. “Flip the switch.”

“You’re going to just _let_ him be a faggot?”

Frank licks his lips. “A man’s gotta eat.”

There’s another flash of light, but the smell of sulfur starts to fade. Ian looks around the apartment and then back at Mickey. “What?”

“Frank feeds on sexual energy.” Mickey grins and takes a step toward Ian. “And you and I are about to gorge him on it.”

“That’s kind of creepy sounding.” Ian smiles and steps back toward the bed, letting Mickey crowd him. “You know that right?”

“How ‘bout I just make both of us forget about Frank?”

Ian grabs Mickey’s shirt and flings him toward the bed, crawling onto the mattress on top of him. “You’re a demon. Is it actually possible for me to say no?”

“Nope.” Mickey grins and leans up to bite Ian’s lower lip. “But me being a demon’s got nothing to do with it.”


End file.
